Hello Stranger

Harry wakes up the next morning with butterflies in his stomach. He's still bloody nervous about the whole letter exchanging thing with the stranger. He's hoping that he/she went back to the bookstore and retrieved the book, and placed it where he had asked for it to be left at. He knows that he's being dumb – like, really proper dumb – because eventually, they would've come back for the journal, but they could've also just scraped the idea because they were thinking that no one was going to write back.

In all honesty, if he were to be the one doing that little project, he would've probably given up on waiting by the third day of no response. He knows that he's kind enough and considerate enough and several other good traits (his mum raised him well), but the one thing that he isn't is patient. He'd never be patient enough to wait for a duration longer than, say, three or four days for a reply that he doubted would come, in the first place.

Harry checks his phone first, before he heads back to the bookstore. There's a few text messages; one from Nick Grimshaw asking if he wanted to come to a party that same night. Grimmy made sure to mention that Matt Healy was gonna be there. They'd never met before, but Harry was a massive fan of The 1975 and he was supposed to meet Matt at a house party or something a few weeks ago, but the elder had unintentionally stood him up. Another text was from his mother, saying that he should come back down to Holmes Chapel for a couple of days soon because she missed him, as did everyone else in his family.

His fingers quickly type out a response to his mother, saying that he'd drive down for the weekend. Then he goes back to the text that Grimmy sent, tapping out a response saying that he'd be there, because why not?

The curly-haired lad is throwing off his duvet then as he stretches his back out, making cat-like noises as he does so, eventually letting his feet touch the cool floor as he sauntered over to plug in his phone. It was a normal daily routine – get out of bed, plug in his mobile, get a drink of water, put on some clothes and go for a run. But for some reason, he wanted to skip the run today.

But he knew that if he did, he'd end up putting the run off every day after that till he eventually became a little fatso, probably.

Twenty minutes later, he's out in the cold London air – but then again, when isn't England cold/chilly? – and jogging over to the park where he usually made his rounds before going back to his flat. His iPod's plugged in and 5 Seconds of Summer is blasting into his earbuds – the old and new EP both loaded into his iPod –, because his mates made good music and he wasn't about to deny himself from listening to the good music they made.

His legs are pumping and the feel of his muscles burning is so painful but it's so good. It wasn't masochism (if that was even the right term) because he loved the pain that runs and working out gave him, but later, when he's laying horizontally on the lounge, he's cursing himself for going out to exercise when he could've stayed perfectly still, watching the tele and... not... moving...

Okay, maybe the exercise was a very good idea.

His long legs slow down as his eyes start to properly take in his surroundings. The park isn't crowded – just a few young kids with their mothers or nannies, elderly couples walking their dogs or just taking a stroll in the early morning. He likes it. It's nice. Makes him feel normal. Then his eyes focus on one of the large trees in the park, the one with the tree hollow. It's the tree that he was referring to in his entry back.

His movements slow down till he's basically walking and he's gingerly approaching the tree. He almost feels disappointed when he peers in and sees that the tree hollow is at it's supposed to be – hollow.

Harry bites down on his bottom lip, a small sigh escaping his lips as he starts picking up his speed again, moving to make a couple more rounds in the park before he's going back to his complex. It's still early, he tells himself. They'll pick the book up and realise that I replied and they'll put it in the tree.

It's funny, because he only just realises how much he wants this person to actually talk to him. He wants to have his moment of escape. Not just from the whole 'being in a world famous boy band' thing. A moment of escape from reality. Reality's a nice place, but he wouldn't want to live there. Sadly, he did.

Harry goes back to the park later in the day – at about half four in the afternoon. A beanie is pulled over his hair and sunnies shield his eyes as he strolls towards the park. The day's nice. The streets are bustling, but no one seems to notice that he's famous because they're all too busy with trying to get to wherever they had to be on time, or too preoccupied with the conversations they were having with their mates.

The tree's still there. Of course the tree's still there. It's a bloody tree. It wasn't going anywhere. Not on its own, anyway.

His head ducks down and his feels his lips curl up into a smile as he spots it. There it is. The leather-bound journal, with the quote and the cartoon dinosaur on the cover, resting flat in the tree hollow. He's quick to pick it up and tug it close to his body, because he doesn't want anyone else to see it and give in to their curiosity by taking it after he leaves it there. This is his thing with this mystery person. Female or homosexual/bisexual male, it didn't matter. He didn't care.

The green eyed young man is quick to rush into his flat, once again silently thanking the gods above that Louis isn't home. Lord knew how much teasing he'd get if Louis saw him clutching the journal which didn't even bloody belong to him.

·
5/12/13

holy fuck. someone actually wrote back. i'm overwhelmed with emotions right now, like i've got the largest grin on my face because i thought that no one was going to bother to write back and now you have?? and wow? thank you so much??

on a side note: i'd like to apologise in advance for... everything, really. if i accidentally offend you or something or like unknowingly make fun of you and stuff. i'm sorry.

moving on! hello there, mr brown hair and green eyes. this whole thing was kinda so that neither of us knew what the other looked like, but then again, you've only given me a hair and eye colour, so i guess that's alright. welcome to my project. you are, as of now, officially my guinea pig. guinea pigs are weird. they're not pigs, they not from guinea, either. i think. i'm not sure about that. never been good at geography. guinea's a country in west africa, by the way. i just googled that. also found out that it was formerly known as french guinea.

hah. french guinea. could you imagine a guinea pig being able to talk and it just starts babbling on in french or in a really thick french accent? a little guinea pig with a little beret and a moustache. picture that for a moment.

made you grin didn't i? just a tiny one? yeah? or nah? (i don't know what i'm doing.)

let's talk about what you said for a bit. your sister's dating one of your mates? your older sister? and you're okay with that? if i were you, i wouldn't be okay with that – i'm not even going to lie. i've got three brothers (which makes me the average-looking rose amongst them prickly and ugly thorns) (they're my brothers i'm allowed to think that they're completely unappealing in every way) and i reckon i would be weirded out if i were hanging out with my mates and then one of them's there just casually snogging her??

then again. the heart wants what it wants. so if something like that were to happen, i probably wouldn't be able to bring myself to do anything to be against it. i wouldn't enjoy seeing one of my mates snogging one of my brothers but ehhh. you've got to sacrifice sometimes. you win some, you lose some. in the end, you'll be leading the path that god had intended for you to lead since the beginning. unless you don't believe in god then that's cool, too. believe whatever you want to believe. you do you and i'll do me.

no. that sounds wrong. sorry.

so stranger, tell me. what's your favourite band?

- the same stranger from the first entry (in case you were doubting it idk) x

·

His pink lips were curled up into a little grin as he read over what she wrote. It was a she, he was certain now. And she was so... Real. He reckoned it was probably because they weren't talking face-to-face, and she didn't feel the need to impress him or whatever. It wasn't him being conceited when he said things like that, it was in a human's nature, to want to impress someone – even if they didn't like the other person. It was just a bubbling need inside them for them to make sure that the other person was impressed or that the other person was at least slightly interested in them, even if they weren't interested in the other person.

Harry brings the journal and a pen to the kitchen, setting the two items down on the counter. Then he goes about making a cup of tea, thinking of what he was going to say because whatever was starting between the two strangers, he was sure that he was going to like it. He was going to like it a lot.